


Fortuity || dan / phil

by laughingcryingdying



Category: Amazingphil - Fandom, Dan/Phil, Danisnotonfire - Fandom, Phan
Genre: Amazingphil - Freeform, Angst, Dan Howell - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phanfiction, Phil Lester - Freeform, YouTube, danisnotonfire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingcryingdying/pseuds/laughingcryingdying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe there are no accidents.<br/>Maybe things do happen for a reason.<br/>Maybe it was real.<br/>That's what they tell themselves anyway, over and over as they watch the five seconds of footage on loop, the few moments where they think that a look is more than a look and that there could be a chance. Separately, they wonder the same thing, but they never say a word. Because they want it to be real so badly and the risk of knowing the truth is too much to bear. Because they think they're just making things up. Seeing things. And they can't ruin everything with something that will never come true, with something that would never happen. But what if it does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortuity || dan / phil

May, 2010

Maybe there are no accidents. Maybe everything happens for a reason.

That’s what he was trying to tell himself, anyway.

Maybe it was real.

Maybe everything happens for a reason, and maybe that’s why the camera was recording in the exact moment that Dan had looked at him––could you even call it a look? Was that even the right word? He didn’t know what to call it. He hadn’t realized it at the time, because he’d forced himself to stop thinking about things like that. Things that weren’t and would not come true.

No matter how badly he wished they would.

It was almost four months ago that he made up his mind to just _stop_.

They were at a party. Meeting up with new some friends. Dan was drinking. He did that when he was nervous, because he hated small talk and trying to start conversations. He started talking to a girl––she was a friend of a friend; Phil vaguely remembered being introduced to her. He was pretty sure her name was Leah. Or maybe Lia. He didn’t know, he couldn’t focus on remembering that when he was too busy watching them and trying to push back the tsunami of _what_ _ifs_ that were flooding his brain.

He watched as Dan laughed, his red plastic cup sloshed slightly as Leah tossed her long shiny brown hair over her shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice that her hair brushed against Dan’s arm; and how he didn’t move away. She was normal and pretty and fun and effortless and Phil hated her. And then he hated that he hated her, because he didn’t _hate_ people.

So why did he hate her?

He knew why. And he knew that it couldn’t go on.

And this was why he’d made his mind stop. Because of what it would turn him into if–– _when_ ––he realized he meant nothing to Dan. The longer he built it up the farther he would fall down, and he felt that if he build it up any longer, he would just fall down and break. Just crack and crack, until he was made of nothing but shards and splinters.

So he stopped.

He stopped wishing. He stopped imagining. He stopped thinking.

And he convinced himself that there was no point to it. He made himself believe there was no point to it.

Until this.

He was editing the video they’d filmed a couple days ago, and then he saw it. The way Dan looked at him for a millisecond too long, how he leaned in ever so slightly and then pulled back like he had just realized what he was doing.

Maybe it was a sign from the universe. Maybe it wasn’t a fluke.

Maybe it was real.

But probably not.

Part of him wanted to tell Dan about it, to ask him if he should keep it in the video or not, but if he asked him this, then Dan would ask _why_. Phil could imagine what he would say. _I mean, why not? Why wouldn’t you keep it in the video, what do you think it looks like?_ He would laugh slightly, corners of his mouth turning up and the dimple poking at his cheek. _What, d’you think people’ll think we’re like,_ in love, _or something?_ And the way he’d say _in love_ would make it sound like the most ludicrous thing the world had ever known.

So this is why he didn’t tell him. Because he couldn’t explain himself, because it would lead to the _why_ , and he could never say the why because he knew that if he did and if Dan didn’t feel the same way––which he didn’t––then he would be crushed. Not even in shards and splinters. Crushed into dust.

So he didn’t tell him. He just uploaded the video, and that was it. And he tried to forget about it.

Except when he couldn’t.

And when he couldn’t, he pulled up the video, and he’d watch it over and over again. Not even the whole thing, just that second-long segment that shouldn’t exist but did. He’d watch it and let himself believe for a few moments that there was something there, that he meant as much to Dan as Dan meant to him. He’d watch it on loop, frame after frame, slowed down and sped up, until he fell asleep alone.

**  
  
  
**

Maybe there are no accidents. Maybe everything happens for a reason.

Dan didn’t believe in all of that fate bullshit, but now he wanted to.

He hadn’t realized he was doing it until it was too late. Looking at him, that is. And on _camera_. But he couldn’t help himself. Because Phil was . . . _Phil_. There was no way to describe him. He was unreal. His eyes were impossibly blue and his laugh was impossibly sweet and Dan didn’t know how to deal with himself because seeing him was driving him insane. So insane that he didn’t know what he was doing and he couldn’t stop himself from looking at him. He just couldn’t.

And it was in the video.

Dan wondered if he had noticed. He _wanted_ him to notice, he hoped and wished and prayed that he had. Because if he had, then he would know, without Dan having to tell him.

Because Dan couldn’t tell him.

He just _couldn’t_. Because if he did, he knew what would happen. If he told him, and he didn’t feel the same way––which he _didn’t_ ––it would ruin everything. He would lose him, and losing Phil was the one that that he would never be able to survive. Because if he lost him, he would lose everything. He was the only one who understood him, _really_ understood him. He was the only one who was there for him.

He was the only one who had been there for him at the very beginning.

He was the only one there in the beginning when everything was dark and plummeting and falling further and further, when he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face and didn’t want to because there was no point, when there was no point trying to see and trying to move and trying to think and trying to exist. When it wasn’t worth the effort. Until he knew him.

He had saved him.

And Dan would lose him if he told him, told him what he tried to ignore and forget over and over again.

And he couldn’t lose him.

He had barely survived before he knew him. And he wouldn’t survive if he didn’t know him again.

Phil didn’t say anything. He didn’t mention it. He just uploaded the video and carried on.

So he stopped.

He stopped hoping and wishing and praying, he stopped the flood of _what_ _ifs_ and he burned the fantasies and daydreams and he just _stopped_. He stopped and he tried to be normal and he tried to forget.

Except when he couldn’t.

And when he couldn’t, he pulled up the video, and he’d watch it over and over again. Not even the whole thing, just that second-long segment that shouldn’t exist but did. He’d watch it over and over again, and for those brief seconds he would let himself wonder if Phil had noticed, and he’s let himself imagine what Phil had thought. He let himself imagine that Phil had felt the same way. He’d play it over and over again, on loop, frame after frame until he fell asleep alone.

**  
**

\-      **\-     -     -     -     -     -     -**

 

 

May, 2015

Maybe there are no accidents. Maybe everything happens for a reason.

That’s what he was trying to tell himself, anyway, no matter how much he hated _fate_ and all of that bullshit.

But maybe it was real.

Maybe everything _does_ happen for a reason, and maybe that’s why the camera was recording in the exact moment that Phil had looked at him––could you even call it a look? Was that even the right word? He didn’t know what to call it. He hadn’t realized it at the time, because he’d forced himself to stop thinking about things like that. Things that weren’t and would not come true.

No matter how badly he wished they would.

He was editing a new video that he’d filmed with Phil last week, and he’d been procrastinating more than usual, because editing videos with Phil in them was painful. Even though he’d forced himself to stop hoping and wishing and praying years ago, he could still feel a splinter whenever he saw his face on screen. And the splinter turned into a full-on earth splitting crack when he saw it.

The look.

The way he smiled at him.

There was something about his eyes. Dan wasn’t sure of what it was, and he didn’t like that he wasn’t sure. There was just something about them; there, in that frame, that he’d never seen before. And when he saw it the flood crashed back down onto him, the flood of wishing and hoping and praying and _what_ _ifs_ that he’d kept back for years.

Because maybe it was a sign from the universe. Maybe it wasn’t a fluke. Maybe all of that fate bullshit actually existed.

Maybe it was real.

But probably not.

“Dan? Are you ready?” He heard Phil calling to him from the lounge. The _are you ready_ was in regards to the party they were throwing in their flat momentarily, belatedly celebrating the announcement of their book.

Dan looked at the time on his computer screen. It was almost eight. People would be arriving any moment. He looked at the screen one more time, at Phil looking at him, and wanted to kick himself for not realizing at the time. For not _doing_ something. Because it was too late now. He closed iMovie. “Yeah, coming!” He called back, getting up from his chair.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he was leaving his room and paused. In just a few minutes, the apartment would be stuffed with people and movement and noise, and he couldn’t go out into that looking like _this_.

_Forget about it_ , he told himself. _You know that you don't matter to him. Not like that, anyway. So just forget about it._ He fixed his hair and tried to cleared his mind, then walked out to the lounge.

Two hours later, it was clear that the party was a major success. People spilled from the kitchen to the lounge in a flood of noise and laughter and conversation. Lots of guests had brought beer and wine as gifts, and Dan may or may not have had one too many drinks. Now, as he finished his fourth cocktail (at least he thought it was his fourth) he realized that the room was starting to spin slightly. He was vaguely aware of someone trying to talk to him, but he couldn’t hear the words, only the garbled blur of noise.

All of a sudden, he couldn’t take it. It was too bright and too loud and too full of people and he couldn’t figure out who was saying what and what he was doing. And then he was shakily getting to his feet, mumbling something about needing the toilet, and walking down the hall. No one seemed to notice him leaving. He closed the door to his room tightly behind him and sat on the edge of the bed.

He rested his head in his hands, briefly wondering why he _hadn’t_ locked himself in the toilet instead of his room. He was feeling more than a little sick. But not queasy. He closed his eyes. He knew why he felt sick. It was obvious.

Dan sat there for a while. He wasn’t sure for how long, whether it was for five minutes or fifty. He could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and music from the lounge, and tried to force himself to go and rejoin the party. But he _couldn’t_.

So he just sat there.

The door opened.

Phil walked in, then noticed he was sitting there in silence. “Dan? What are you doing here? I thought you were in the toilet.”

“Well I mean, it is _my_ room,” he mumbled.

“I was just coming to get the book excerpts to show everyone, aren’t they in your desk?”

He shrugged.

Phil took a few steps closer. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

Phil blinked. “Are you okay,” he repeated.

He shrugged again.

Phil came and sat with him on the corner of the bed. “What’s wrong?” His voice was quiet. “Are you drinking again?”

“I dunno.”

“Dan.”

Hearing his name made him want to open the window and fall to the ground. He swallowed, biting on the inside of his lip to keep his voice steady. “What.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” _Nothing, except I hate you. Nothing, except I love you. Nothing, except I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing._ He forced himself to smile. “I’m fine. I just had like, too many cocktails.”

“D’you want to come back to the lounge? Carrie said she’d sing.”

He tried to find something that he’d usually say, something that would make Phil think he was okay. “I’m going to go to the toilet and puke up my lungs, then I’ll come and join everyone.”

Phil smiled, but he still looked worried. Dan could see the worry in his eyes, even though his mouth was smiling. It was always his eyes. “Sounds like a plan.” He got up and went over to Dan’s desk, then pulled the pile of papers he was looking for out of a drawer. Phil started to leave, then stopped next to him. “Isn’t it weird?”

“Whad’you mean?”

“This.” He pointed to the papers. “All of this. It’s so weird. Like, how did this happen to us?”

“Talent. Timing. Fate, if it exists. Which it doesn’t.”

Phil swatted him with the papers. “We get it Dan, you don’t believe in fate or luck or anything supernatural or surreal.” Dan smiled, then smiled more, realizing that he’d smiled. Phil could make anyone smile.

Phil rolled the papers into a tube, then unrolled them. “Everything’s changing.”

“I dunno.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re still pathetically easy to scare.”

“Hey!” Phil laughed. “And you’re still a procrastinator.”

“And you still sneak my cereal at three a.m.”

“And the concept of a belt is still incomprehensible to you.”

Dan laughed, more than he should. It felt good to laugh. He tried to think of a snappy response quickly. “And we still look at each other the same, like how in the video we filmed you––” He stopped, feeling like he’d just gotten hit in the stomach. _Oh_ _god_. Did he really just say what he thought he said?

**  
  
  
**

“What?” His voice came out a squeak. The song playing in the lounge ended, and there was a moment of silence before a Twenty One Pilots song started up.

Dan looked stricken. “I––”

“Dan?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Dan?” Phil repeated. He heard his voice break and tried not to wince.

“I’m. Um.” Dan opened his mouth then closed it.

Phil took a step closer, so that he was less than a foot away. “Dan?” he said for a third time; speaking softly, like he didn’t know what to think. Which for the record, he didn’t.

“I’m just––I’m going to––I’ve––the toilet,” Dan mumbled. He sprung up from the bed, intending to sprint from his room to the bathroom, lock himself there, and never come out.

But they were too close together.

And when Dan jumped up, he practically collided with Phil, and before Phil knew what he was doing his hands were on Dan’s cheeks and he was pulling Dan to him, eliminating the little space between them.

His lips were on Dan’s and his eyes were open because he couldn’t close them because he was imploding. Not because he was kissing him. Not really, anyway. But because Dan was kissing him back. Which meant that maybe there were no accidents. Which meant that maybe everything did happen for a reason. Regardless, it didn’t matter. It–– _this_ ––was real.

**  
  
  
**

It was real.

He didn’t need to say anything more. Because they’d both known what he was talking about.

Dan couldn’t think straight.  

He couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t _think_. He couldn’t even remember what thinking was. All he knew was that it was real.

_It was real_ , and the flood that he’d kept back for five years was crashing into him and pulling him over and knocking him down, making his knees buckle and his head spin. The floor tilted beneath him and he felt the bounce as he landed on his bed, never moving his lips from Phil’s.

The sounds of the party faded away. Dan couldn’t hear the laughing or the talking or anything. It was a part of a different universe. It didn’t exist. _This_ ––right here, right now––was the only thing that existed.

He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, because he couldn’t get close enough, because he had wasted so much time on wishing when he could have had it all. But that didn’t matter. At least, he tried not to let it matter. Because he had it now, in this second, and for every second that came after this one.

He couldn’t believe it.

His hands were in Phil’s soft hair and there were tears running down his cheeks because he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it was real.

It was.

Phil cradled his head in his hands. He kissed his tears as they hit his cheeks. And Dan kissed him.

And smiled.

Maybe there are no accidents. Maybe everything happens for a reason.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if _fate_ and all that bullshit existed or not.

Because with or without it, it was real.

_This_ was real.

**  
  
**


End file.
